Right in Front of the Other
by Mystic25
Summary: Walking is supposed to be such a trivial thing, but for Sam Winchester, it was something else entirely. Set in the infamous scene when Sam wakes up in "Like a Virgin."


"Right In Front of the Other"

Mystic25

Summary: Walking is supposed to be such a trivial thing, but for Sam Winchester, it was something else entirely. Set in the infamous scene when Sam wakes up in "Like a Virgin."

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Erik Kripe and the CW, so basically, they're rich and creative, and I'm poor and creative…we could've been friends man….

A/N: This is one of my favorite scenes in the show, and so I wanted to play with it.

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"_I think of how perhaps the best way to fly would be with hands full of earth, so that we always remember where we came from, how hard walking could sometimes be."_

-"Cassia Reyes"

Matched

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The steps were wood, creaking, ancient wood with solid iron railings, Sam had forgotten that, like he had forgotten a lot of things, like the sweetness of the air, even though it was stale, and dust ridden, and smelled like an overload of salt because there _was_ an overload of salt where he'd woken up. He had forgotten so many things, but being _in _the places that made up his memories, it made them slowly come back, like something you passed in a fog, only seeing it clearly when it stood almost directly in front of you.

He was dazed, he remembered falling into the huge crater in Stull Cemetery, remembered seeing his brother's bruised and bloody face watching him as he told him it was all going to be okay, that he had a hold of Satan, _Satan, _that he was in control of his body now, and he was going to drag it down to the Pit, to save the world-no to save _him-_to save Dean. The world had to be saved because Dean lived in it, but when everything else was stripped away- all the masks, and bravery, and outer parts, Dean _was_ Sam's world, and it was this he was saving.

It seemed like yesterday, he had closed his eyes, knowing he would never open them again to the see sun, the air, to see his brother, he felt himself falling-

Then like a dream where you fell through darkness that seemed to go on forever, he woke up on his bed or _a_ bed at least. One that his mind recognized instantly, remembering all too well being held down on it by restraints. But this time, he wasn't tied down, he sat up without any hindrance, feeling like he had run across the universe and had now just gotten back. Everything ached, a dull pain in all his muscles from activities he didn't remember participating in. But, considering where he'd jumped into, perhaps it was better that he _didn't _remember.

His stomach felt hugely empty, his head hurt, he felt like he could sleep for years, and still wake up tired. But, he was _here_—someplace so familiar, someplace he thought he would never see again, because he knew what he had "signed up for."

He stood up from the cot, his legs becoming jello under him, like a foal first born trying to find its balance. He had to brace himself on the metal edge of the cot, take deep breaths, swear, and then try again. His second attempt found his legs to be less like jello and more like bones and muscles that coordinated to make walking possible. His weight held this time, it let him stand up.

He tested his new strength, one foot planting on the reinforced concrete, then the other, they held. He took one step, then two, then four. Each one bringing a ridiculous smile to his face that anyone who saw him might akin to a toddler being proud of a new found ability. But, Sam wasn't a baby; he was 26-years-old, and he had lived through Hell, people could go fuck their opinions, he was going to be proud of walking.

The solid iron door of the panic room was wide open, leaving a glimpse of the hallway outside it, the wooden stairs he had found himself staring at the minute he opened his eyes. It was better than anything he would have wished for had a Djin been standing there to grant him any wishes.

His walking was slow, his body a machine that had been absent a soul for 18 months, something that it wasn't happy with, because the soul was intertwined with the body, without it, it was just a machine functioning on default mode when it was used to a higher capacity setting, when it was used to not just doing, but _feeling._

But Sam didn't know this; he just attributed it to being sore, to having been through Hell, and fighting; only Satan knew what, down there before something had mercifully brought him topside.

He kept walking, one foot, then the next, relishing in the pain, even if it hurt like a mother, because it wasn't _nothing_, because it meant he was _alive._ There was an overripe odor emitting from his clothes, he didn't try to take a whiff of them like he had done in college to see if a trip to the Laundromat was in order. He knew he smelled bad, but right now he didn't _care_.

He made it outside of the panic room, the wooden stairs coming into view like a friend he had said goodbye too because he knew he would never see them again.

He walked, it was hard, it hurt, but he kept going, the wood creaked, groaned like he remembered, singing like a song his ears, making him insurmountably happy that Bobby hadn't bothered to replace the damaged boards.

He was back topside in two ways, back from the Pit, and back at the top of Bobby's stairs. All the sounds that were commonplace- the clock ticking, the hum of the fan Bobby kept running in his library because the smoke from the fireplace wouldn't vent properly through the floo, it was beautiful. Beautiful because they were mixed with the sights that they belonged too, dusty books, an old, but comfortable kitchen, things that he thought would just become a memory that would eventually fade away as Hell tore away what had made him human.

But all those sounds, were nothing compared to the ones that his ears honed in on the minute the noise was audible enough to be picked up.

Voices. Voices talking in conversation, the words about planes and women and pilots, and _Buddy Holly?_

Bobby Singer's deep, gruff voice with a Dakota twang, a sound you wanted to hear reassure when you were in trouble, and you wanted to hear laughing and ribbing you over a beer when you weren't.

And the other, it was, it was-

Sam's legs were burning, but he drew closer, away from the stairs, the panic room, and into the library, he saw everything so familiar, everything he had said goodbye to before he had let Lucifer take him over, the warmth of the fireplace, the towers of books that his hands had held and leafed through so many times, the lumpy furniture that took his sleeping weight with only little complaint.

And him. The goodbye that had hollowed him out, left him empty for Lucifer to fill. Screaming inside his own head as he watched the Devil break him apart into bloody flesh. Taking back control to say a goodbye, this reassurance, even though he didn't want to say goodbye at all.

"_It's okay Dean, it's gonna be okay-I got him." He closed his eyes and jumped, kept his eyes closed so Dean wouldn't see him cry, because he was going to die, die forever and not come home._

"Dean-"

His voice turned Dean around like something had electrocuted him. His brother stood up, looking at him in stunned shock. But it was a good shock, it was a shock that brought something dead and dormant back to life, to choke on the air and blink into the sunlight.

Sam studied Dean more than he had studied any of the books he walked around to approach him. His brother's clothes, his brother's eyes, his _brother_.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was a question, his eyes roving over Sam to check for anything wrong, any physical ailments that might manifest themselves after having ones soul shoved back inside by an ancient, life taking horsemen.

Dean watched Sam's eyes as he approached, his brother had had nothing, _nothing_ in his eyes for almost two years, just a dead, void look that Dean couldn't get used to because it was unnatural, because _his_ brother had different eyes.

He had eyes like the ones that were fixed on him right now, staring at him, watching him while wearing every feeling he had inside on the outside. Dean remembered being annoyed at that look before, because it wanted something, because it whined when it did. But once something so simple was gone from you, you remembered how much you really missed it when all you could do was want it back.

Dean took a step towards his brother, tentatively, trying to remember how to walk correctly, watching Sam approach him like he was a ghost he wasn't sure was real. Dean was unaware that he was doing the exact same thing, waiting to see that this wasn't something he would wake up from. "Are you-"

His words were cut off when a wall of his brother slammed into him so hard it knocked his breath away. His baby brother, who had gotten too huge for him to hold, was holding onto him like a vise, gripping him like he never wanted to stop.

And after a second of paused hesitation, of total '_what the hell'?_ shock, Dean's arm went around Sam, then the other, until it wasn't awkward, until they were hugging each other. And it was like a warm, healing current when Dean held Sam, something that reminded him that this was what it felt like when you were no longer broken. He closed his eyes, he remembered being whole.

It was like something had settled inside of Sam where the hollowness had been, something reclaiming its rightful place. He was hugging Dean so tightly he knew he was probably choking him. But he didn't stop; he closed his eyes and held on tighter. Tighter than when Dean had come back from Hell, from all those other times, because they both had finally understood that their souls could only live their longest lives when they were together.

And then Sam had jumped.

And then he had woken up, not in hell, but in here, something had let him come back. He had no idea if the world even still functioned as he walked back upstairs, right, left, right, left, each movement hurting, but he had to find _his_ world, the rest of it would have to wait until he stopped holding his breath.

Walking was supposed to be such a trivial thing, something babies would learn, and then not give a second thought to after it was mastered.

But when Sam Winchester saw his brother Dean, walking was life, because it led him back to his.

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End.

This scene was such a powerful one, sweet and sad, awkward for a moment, but that's what made it beautiful, because once they let go of the awkwardness, they held on to each other.

I didn't put Bobby in this, because I wanted this to be a moment between Sam and Dean.

Hope you liked.

Peace

Mystic


End file.
